


Help, I'm Alive

by HematiteBadger



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HematiteBadger/pseuds/HematiteBadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 'routine medical exam' when Eiffel is returned to the Hephaestus is anything but routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help, I'm Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harpers_mirror (SapphireBryony)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireBryony/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Помогите, я жив](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495736) by [WTF_Fictional_Podcasts_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Fictional_Podcasts_2018/pseuds/WTF_Fictional_Podcasts_2018)



> Originally posted to Tumblr as Tabbyclaw. For the prompt: "I'm alive... I can tell because of the pain."

For probably the first time ever, Doug makes his way to the medical lab without being either forced or literally dragged in unconscious. He has his orders, courtesy of Hilbert winning an argument against Kepler – the first time any of them have done _that_ either, and probably the last as well – and he’s not allowed anywhere near active duty until he’s undergone a full medical inspection. He’s surprisingly grateful for that; every breath and every movement reminds him that his body has been destroyed, and even if he doesn’t _want_ to know just how bad it is, he _needs_ to know. And there’s only one person within eight light years who can tell him.

“Hey, Doc,” he mumbles with a faint smile as he opens the door. Human company is still enough of a novelty that he’s even happy to see _Hilbert_ sometimes. The nod he gets in return seems less brusque and irritated than usual, and he wonders if maybe the ‘better you than no one’ feeling is mutual.

“You are late, Officer Eiffel,” Hilbert says, sparing him no more than that nod before turning back to something he’s been looking at on a computer terminal. “Disrobe and let us get on with this.”

Or not. “Good to know you haven’t lost any of your charm while I was away,” Doug observes to his back. He undresses slowly, stiff fingers fumbling at fabric that ripples and billows around his now-bony frame. “Is this gonna be a ‘strapped to the table and hoping that oblivion takes me quickly’ kinda thing, or a more casual affair?”

Hilbert turns, doubtless ready to say something scathing about Doug’s sarcasm, and just stops. His mouth hangs open, shock overtaking him in a moment that lasts only long enough for Doug to be absolutely certain it really happened. “Eiffel,” he says very quietly, and in anyone else Doug would swear that tone was a sort of horrified compassion.

_Don’t worry about it_ , Doug tries to say, trying to make a joke out of it. _You’re not the first person to be rendered speechless by the sight of me naked_. What comes out instead is an equally quiet “Yeah, I know.” He knows what he looks like, bare and skeletal, cracked and bruised. Almost as broken as he feels. He curls in on himself further and tries not to look at Hilbert. 

Hilbert does one of his weird growls, shaking himself out of whatever unexpected emotional place he went to. “We have work to do,” he says shortly, catching Doug by the wrist and pulling him further into the lab. 

It’s not a normal exam, at least not by the standards Doug has grown accustomed to. Hilbert isn’t kind, isn’t compassionate, but he handles Doug with a sort of impersonal gentleness that’s a far cry from the cheerful malice he used to exude whenever he had someone on the table. His hands are professional and careful and way less reassuring than that should be. As is the constant beeping. “Uh, Doc? Is the heart monitor really necessary?” 

“Yes.” Hilbert’s response is sharp and clipped as he studies Doug’s foot, making note of the raw and discolored skin that still cracks from time to time. “Now please hold still.” 

“Kinda hard to do under the circumstances,” Doug mutters, trying not to twitch. He’s never been particularly ticklish, but now every part of his body is just _sensitive_. He pauses. “Wait. Did you mean _necessary_ necessary? Like, ‘I’m gonna have a heart attack or something if you don’t keep an eye on it’ necessary?” Well, the beeping is definitely faster now. 

“You may send yourself into cardiac arrest if you do not _remain calm and hold still_ ,” Hilbert growls warningly. When this doesn’t have any sort of calming effect whatsoever, he sighs, holding Doug still with one hand on his chest and looking at him intently. “ _Eiffel_. Your heart is in good condition. Surprisingly good. Monitor is for _my_ benefit.” 

This bit of nonsense is enough to quiet the fear that’s bubbling to the surface. “What?” 

There’s a cold, flat sound to Hilbert’s voice, something held in check. “You were dead,” he says slowly, as if explaining it to a child. “For over two hundred days, everyone _knew_ you were dead. Is… difficult to _stop_ thinking that you are dead. Corroborating evidence helps.” 

Doug doesn’t know what to say to that. If he reads between the lines, he can almost tell himself that Hilbert is _relieved_ that he’s not dead. He’s not sure how he feels about that. But the surface sentiment he can get behind; he’s spent plenty of time doubting whether or not he survived himself. “If my opinion counts, I’m pretty sure I’m alive,” he says. “I can tell because of the pain.” The smile he forces is weak. 

Hilbert nods silently, removing his hand from Doug’s chest and turning his attention to Doug’s hands. “Pain should fade with time,” he says absently. 

“That’s what they all say.” 

They both lapse into silence, industrious on Hilbert’s end and uncomfortable on Doug’s. As it always has been. And Doug can only stand the silence for so long, as it always has been. “Did you give up on me right away?” he asks quietly, the question he can’t bring himself to ask Hera or Minkowski.

Hilbert sighs in irritation at this intrusion, but doesn’t ignore the question as Doug had half expected him to. “Others held out hope for some time,” he says, words that should be comforting but instead carry a tinge of disdain. “I did not waste time. Chose instead to confront reality directly. You could not have survived; no point in hoping otherwise.” 

“Man, did I ever have you pegged,” Eiffel says, shaking his head. “It’s nothing,” he adds at Hilbert’s dubious look. He’s not ready to tell anyone about everything that he heard – or let himself pretend he’d heard – on his little solo trip. Maybe not ever. 

“Hmph.” Hilbert shrugs this non sequitur off as he usually does when Doug is talking. “Did hope it was quick,” he adds softly. “That you did not suffer.” 

“Thanks for that,” Doug says, and is surprised to realize he means it. Coming from Hilbert, that’s the closest thing to kindness he can expect. “I can always count on you to– hey!” He cuts off with a startled yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his fingers. “But you’re okay with me suffering _now_?!” 

Hilbert looks up at him in confusion. “This is painful?” he asks, running an instrument across Doug’s exposed nail bed again. 

“I’m pretty sure they specifically designed a torture technique based around that being painful, yes!” 

“That is…” Hilbert trails off and begins muttering to himself as he continues poking at Doug’s hands, more gently this time but not by much. Doug is pretty sure he hears the words ‘tissue death’ and ‘nerve damage,’ but the rest of it is under Hilbert’s breath and over his head. 

“Ow! You wanna clue me in here, Doc?” Doug snaps, whatever affinity he’s been feeling for Hilbert evaporating. 

“It is as you said, Officer Eiffel,” Hilbert says, sounding more animated than has ever been good for Doug’s health and sanity. “Pain is evidence of life. It is too soon to be certain, but…” He shakes his head, apparently deciding that it’s too soon even to speculate out loud. “Further testing will be required. One week, perhaps. But I believe… you and I are both going to survive this.” 


End file.
